


The Story of Us

by AriC



Series: am i home with you? [2]
Category: Love Simon (2018), Simon vs. the Homo Sapiens Agenda - Becky Albertalli
Genre: Fluff, Handholding, Karaoke, M/M, Simon POV, Soft Boys, artist Bram, like 500ish words of fluff tbh, singer Bram, very in love, well they're both singers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-22
Updated: 2018-06-22
Packaged: 2019-05-26 21:01:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15009371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AriC/pseuds/AriC
Summary: "Because there's no hiding, not now. Not now, when you hold my hand the way I held yours that night after the tilt-a-whirl, and your fingers fit so perfectly in the spaces between mine."





	The Story of Us

**Author's Note:**

> wooo here's an original work that has been reworded into a fic yay happy pride

You’ve put on an apron in an attempt to keep the paint from staining your clothes the way the rest of you has been: splotches of red and blue that managed to escape from the palette and found their way up your arms and fingertips. There’s a spot of brown that blends so nicely with the rest of your skin and spots of almost-black that match your eyes, and it’s then I see the painting on the canvas in front of me. It’s messy and not even halfway done. Still, with pencil marking where paint has yet to be I can tell that it’s you.

It’s you. 

It’s you and your whispered confessions between shallow breaths and a pounding heart . It’s you and my steady hands brushing hair away from your face. It’s you and our late night, wide eyed, half dreaming talks.

I’m standing in the doorway, quietly watching you paint when you turn around, “Should've told me you're into voyeurism, Si. ”

I startle, and blush and stumble over - “No, I'm not, I'm - you’re not dating a voyeur - I swear I’m not a voyeur.”

“Then do tell,” you tease, pointing a brush at me. “What exactly are you doing here?”

“Admiring you?”'

Your laugh is mischievous. “That really doesn’t help your case.”

“Sorry, it’s just.” I nod to the canvas. A half painted version of you, all willowy and weary but still rough and rigid and ready to put up a fight, nods back. “You’re so talented, you know?”

“Oh,” you say, stunned. “Thanks.” 

Much later in the night, after we have dinner, after you've rinsed out your brushes and left your canvas to dry, you decide to paint with sound. “Watch me?” You whisper in my ear before you walk up and grab the mic. 

I whisper back, “Always.”

And so I watch you sing, your voice soft and sweet even though you’re clearly intoxicated. The crowd goes wild when you finish, then wilder still when you walk over to where I’m seated and hold out your hand.

“Duet?”

I say yes. 

One drink turned into too many, and at this point of the night, I have no idea how we got here. All I know is now we’re sharing a mic in front of a crowded, sweaty karaoke bar and singing the most widely known love song to each other. 

It's almost like the Halloween Party of Senior Year, only better. Because there's no guessing, or Martin blackmailing me, or locking myself in the bathroom trying to find a way to say _Bram, I'm Jacques_. But mostly-

Because there's no hiding,  not now. Not now, when you hold my hand the way I held yours that night after the tilt-a-whirl, and your fingers fit so perfectly in the spaces between mine, an unspoken conversation:

“Stay.”

“Of course. We’re meant to be.”

Your hands tell thousands of stories. They hold a paintbrush and tell the story of monsters that never seemed to disappear. They hold a microphone and tell the story of one too many nights alone.  

And they hold my heart the way they hold my hands- soft and gentle and caring, and tell the story of us.

**Author's Note:**

> hope u enjoyed!! hit that kudos and comment please i truly love validation :)


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